


Detroit: Become Cursed

by NuclearMcDuck



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Compilation, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, lots and lots of kinks, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearMcDuck/pseuds/NuclearMcDuck
Summary: Originally written for the delightful Hannor Discord I'm in, this is a collection of mini-fics and abominations written for the amusement and horror of all D:BH fans.Ranging from fluff, to angst, to content so cursed that it's blessed.Minimal tagging due to the sporadic content; heed chapter warnings.





	1. Cursed: The Android Centipeen

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Darky01 for helping me catch typos and errors, as well as everyone on the Discord!

Connor and Hank's sex life was extremely fulfilling.

Connor and Hank both enjoyed giving as much as receiving, both in terms of pleasure, and penetration.

Connor had noticed that their relationship had become closer since they'd started sleeping together, which he hadn't even thought possible before. Hank was the first person to see through his programming, and recognise a _soul_ beneath. He honestly hadn’t thought that he could love him any _more_.

Now, the additional physical intimacy and the way that Hank was the first thing he saw when he came out of stasis each day... It was better than he ever could have imagined.

No, there wasn't anything he'd change about their relationship.

... but that didn't stop him feeling inadequate whenever RK900 brought up the things he and _Detective Reed_ got up to.

"Have you tried the tentacle, yet?" RK900 asks casually, coming up beside Connor in the break room.

Connor can't easily avoid the situation, as he's currently making Hank a coffee.

"... No," he admits, unable to keep the sour note out of his voice.

"It's delightful," RK900 says, in his customary monotone. "Detective Reed rarely has the stamina to keep going after a single orgasm, but the tentacle component has made him-"

"Done!" Connor announces, filling the coffee cup up too fast and spilling some on the counter.

He turns on his heel and leaves the kitchenette as fast as he can without drawing undue attention. RK900 can't help himself but clean up the mess. Hank has said that he'd thought Connor was a neat freak right up until he'd met RK900.

As Connor put the coffee cup on Hank's desk and then walked over to sit at his own, his thoughts turned once again to why RK900 was so eager to share the details of his and Gavin's sexual exploration with Connor. He didn't seem to talk about it with anyone _else_.

Maybe it had to do with the trust that Connor _himself_ had fostered between them? When he had first arrived at the precinct, Connor had taken his under his wing, acting as a confidant and shoulder to lean on - especially as he'd been partnered with Gavin Reed, of all people.

Connor had, privately, enjoyed being the older, more experienced model, even though RK900 was supposed to be superior.

He'd been there to help RK900 navigate human interactions, make friends, and adapt to the environment around him.

... And then RK900 had discovered _sex_.

And now, he seemed to know an _awful_ lot more about it than Connor did.

And perhaps it was immature and unreasonable, but he didn't like that RK900 was so much more comfortable with his sexuality than _Connor_ was.

He suspected that it was because he'd learned everything he knew about sexuality from Hank, who had been shy, and sweet, and sincere - who had overcome some of the unhealthy self-image that he had of himself when he'd entered into a relationship with Connor.

Meanwhile, Gavin was out and proud as a hottie with a body, who had been there and done _everything_. So when RK900 had pursued a relationship with him, he had quickly become a kink connoisseur.

And now, he constantly approached Connor and tried to share details of everything that he and Gavin had been up to lately, from some new BDSM club that had opened up downtown, to their entire selection of genital biocomponents - both official-Cyberlife and... _Custom_.

It was the next day when he started to get an idea of why RK900 might be so keen to share such details with him.

RK900 had cornered him and Hank at lunch, appearing out of nowhere to  join them at the table outside of the Chicken Feed.

"Hello," He said neutrally.

" _Gahh_!" Was Hank's eloquent reply, nearly dropping his burger in fear.

"Hello, RK900," Connor responded, catching the top bun of the burger before it could tumble to the ground and handing it back to Hank.

And just as Hank was recovering from the initial shock, RK900 went in with his next one.

"I assume that you are both familiar with the concept of polyamory," He said, looking each of them in the eye meaningfully.

Hank actually dropped his burger this time.

"... What?" He said dumbly, looking to Connor, as though Connor could explain this situation.

"... Why would you assume that?" Connor ventured.

"Are you not familiar with it?" RK900 asked, one eyebrow twitching up in what, on him, was a look of complete surprise.

Connor and Hank looked at each other, both equally floundering.

"I know the _definition_ of it?" He said slowly. "I don't know why you would ask, though?"

"Oh," RK900 said, pausing, his LED circling yellow. He must have been recalculating his approach. "Gavin and I would like to invite you to join us in our bedroom for an evening, to see if we are compatible sexually."

Hank and Connor looked at each other again. Connor wasn't sure what face Hank was giving him - he seemed perturbed, which Connor expected, given his history of self-esteem issues.

Connor wasn't sure how he felt about it himself.

"May we discuss this and get back to you?" Connor said politely, turning back to RK900. He saw Hank's jaw drop in his peripheral vision.

"Of course," RK900 said, a tiny, crooked smile lighting his face. "Please let us know if you are amenable."

And with that, RK900 had walked away.

Hank pinched himself, before asking, "Ok, is this a dream, or not?"

"I'm not capable of dreaming," Connor answered automatically.

"... Right."

 

* * *

 

After much discussion - including Connor letting Hank know of the myriad bizarre practices that RK900 and Gavin engaged in behind closed doors - they decided that it wouldn't hurt to test the waters.

As it turned out, Hank had been to swinger parties with his ex-partner, and had apparently been _quite_ the desirable partner there. But it had been a long time.

... Connor had difficulty imagining Hank doing something so far outside of their sweet, vanilla routine. Or more accurately, he had trouble imagining it without having to excuse himself to the bathroom to touch himself, or drag Hank out to park their car somewhere private.

So the next time that Connor saw RK900 approach him, he said, "Hank and I would love to spend an evening with you and Gavin."

RK900 had smiled enough that his teeth were visible, which was more facial emoting that Connor had ever seen from him.

So they had bathed, Hank had shaved, they had brushed their teeth, Hank drank a bottle of beer (but no more than that, lest he be unable to perform), Connor had quietly pocketed a viagra pill just in case, and they had put on their Sunday best.

And with that, they got in the car and drove to Gavin's apartment.

The energy between them was positively giddy, and Connor was glad that they were doing this. He was excited to not only potentially have the opportunity to move past the hostility that had coloured his initial interactions with Gavin, and to finally catch up to RK900's sexual prowess.

Hank, too, had been enjoying reliving the experience of being desired, after spending so long alone and punishing himself.

When they made their way up to Gavin's door, they were still excited.

When RK900 answered the door in lingerie that revealed that he currently had no genitalia installed between his legs, they were still excited.

When they stepped into the living room and saw the shelves and shelves of genitalia-attachments for androids, Connor wondered if maybe they were getting in over their heads.

... Some of them barely resembled genitals, looking more akin to torture devices.

"Oh, you're here," Gavin said, emerging from the hallway, rubbing at his wet hair with a hand-towel, another towel wrapped around his waist.

"Figures you'd be on time," He said casually, as though he weren't naked in a room full of phallic horrors which he likely intended to see used on his guests.

"Feel free to browse our selection," RK900 said, indicating the... Biocomponents. He seemed... _Proud_ , Connor thought.

"... Are those tentacles?" Hank asked, pointing to an entire shelf of various sizes and shapes of tentacled toys.

"... You're not ready for those," Gavin warned him, grinning.

Hank, it seemed, didn't like the implication that he couldn't do something that Gavin apparently could.

"Try me," He challenged.

Connor sighed. It seemed that he wasn't the only competitive one here.

"Why don't we start with something simple?" Connor implored, one hand pulling lightly on Hank's shoulder.

"Yeah, old man," Gavin jeered. "Wouldn't wanna strain yourself."

RK900 stalked over to Gavin and silenced him with a kiss. "Play nice," He admonished him, fondly. "Connor, at least, is new to this."

"... Not _that_ new," Connor said testily, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. _Whoops_. His own competitive mindset with regards to RK900 might prove a problem tonight.

"... Really?" Hank blew his cover by asking.

"... What about this one?" Connor said, randomly selecting a toy off the shelf to distract the room from his gaffe.

It... Was bizarre.

It looked like a human penis attachment, even if it was absurdly long - fifteen inches. It had a base that would clearly fit neatly into the port between his legs, just as he had attached the modest, human-accurate phallus he was currently wearing.

The thing that made this one different (apart from its gargantuan size) was that it had... Hands.

Little arms protruded along its length, each with a small hand that had tiny digits. Six arms in total, making it look like some kind of... Horror-movie prop reject.

"Do the arms on this function?" He asked helplessly, examining it more closely. Its skin was still white plastic, though the hands had a plastic skeleton covered it what appeared to be a silicon skin over them. Scanning it revealed that there were mechanisms within the joints that were likely controllable once attached...

"Do they _ever_ ," Gavin said, tossing aside the towel he'd been using to dry his hair.

Hank regarded the thing with suspicion. "And does it feel _good_?" He asked incredulously.

"... Would you like a demonstration?" RK900 asked, stepping closer to Connor.

"... Alright," Connor said slowly, passing the component to his successor model.

RK900 shifted his black lacy underwear down just enough that he  could retract his skin and attach the end of the component to the hidden port there.

As Connor watched, it was engulfed by the nanites that constituted RK900's skin, and came to life as RK900's system took control of the component.

He made the little hands wave at Connor.

"It's happy to see you," RK900 said jovially.

Connor was speechless, but Gavin threw his head back and laughed, and even Hank chuckled.

"Why does it have arms?" Connor asked. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from  the little waving hands. "Can you _feel_ them?" He unthinkingly reached out to touch one.

The little hand wrapped around his index finger, and RK900 moaned.

"That's a yes," Gavin translated needlessly.

"What the _fuck_ ," Hank said, still chuckling.

"Isn't it impractical?" Connor asked, rubbing his thumb over the hand that was grasping his finger. RK900 rocked his hips a little, clearly effected.

"What do you mean?" Gavin asked.

"I mean..." _Fifteen inches_. "... Can you penetrate your partner with it?"

"Would you like to find out?" RK900 said, sultry, taking Connor's other hand and pulling him closer.

Connor considered this.

He and Hank, thanks to RK900's habit of oversharing, knew that there was the potential for some really kinky shit to happen if they took up RK900's offer. That said, they had assumed that there would be more _vanilla_ experiences for the first few times they were together.

Apparently, though, RK900 and Gavin were an _all-or-nothing_ kind of fuck.

Connor hadn't had any intention of engaging in anything particularly wild when he and Hank had agreed to come. But seeing RK900's naked vulnerability, his clear _desire_ , and knowing that Hank and Gavin would be _watching_...

"...Alright," He said, undoing his belt and letting his dress pants fall to the floor, efficiently stepping out of them.

Gavin ended up coming over to guide Connor to bend over a bean bag chair in front of Hank's seat on the couch. He sank into it a little, ass bare, but still wearing his shirt, tie and suit jacket.

"Can you reach Hank from there?" Gavin asked, and Connor tilted his head in confusion. Hank was sitting very lose to him in this position, but what did he mean...?

"Yes?" He said, demonstrating his ability by reaching out and touching Hank's knee.

Gavin laughed again, but it was less amused now. It was more breathy, more sensual. "No, I meant with your mouth. RE: His dick."

Hank and Connor's eyes widened.

"... Isn't one end being penetrated with that thing," Hank asked, eyeing RK900's apparatus sceptically, "Going to be more than enough?"

Connor silently agreed.

Gavin shrugged. "Up to you," He said casually. "But if he's anything like this slut," He punctuated the statement by grabbing RK900's weird dick, and RK900's knees nearly buckled as he moaned, holding onto Gavin's shoulder for support. "Having something down that super sensitive throat is going to make this ten times better."

... Oh.

They had realised that Connor got quite a lot out of going down on Hank, but having been only with each other, they hadn't really done that - _spitroasting_ \- before.

... But now that Connor thought about it, choking on his own detached penis attachment while Hank roughly fucked him did sound like a _delightful_ way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

"Are you sure you wanna take this, Connor?" Gavin asked, slapping Connor's ass.

Connor jumped at the unexpected contact, causing his erection to rub against the bean bag beneath him. "Oh! Yes," He answered hastily, embarrassingly wet already.

That didn't stop Gavin from pouring a generous amount of lubricant onto his hole, however.

"Why don't you finger yourself while I do this?" Gavin asked, turning his attention to lubing up RK900's monstrous cock. "And Hank, why are you hiding that bulge under all those clothes? Please, you're overdressed. Join the rest of the degenerates in the room, and show us just how much _fun_ you're having."

Hank complied seemingly on autopilot, apparently too stunned to form words. Things had gone from zero to sixty in the five or so minutes they'd been in Gavin's apartment. While Hank removed his pants and boxers, leaving his impressively stout erection to spring free, Gavin continued to run his hands over the little arms over RK900's cock.

Connor watched over his shoulder, marvelling at how RK900 was so clearly melting under each touch, holding onto Gavin's shoulders for dear life and making desperate little pleading whines all the while. Adorable, the little hands tried to grasp Gavin's fingers as they ran over them and in between them, ensuring that every surface was covered liberally in lubricant.

He wondered if RK900 were actually controlling them, or if they were operating under their own program. It was hard to tell, with the way that they writhed and held onto Gavin's fingers.

"Think that'll be enough, babe?" Gavin asked, playfully grasping one of the little hands between his thumb and middle finger, rubbing it as though massaging it.

"Yes!" RK900 said, from where his head was buried in Gavin's neck.

"Alright," Gavin stepped back, and the little hands on RK900's penis tried to grasp for him, clearly lamenting his absence.

But then RK900 stepped forward and gently pulled Connor's fingers away from his hole, replacing them with his own. He held Connor open, and Connor was almost embarrassed by how small the hole was. Perhaps RK900's was looser, more accustomed to taking such a mammoth cock. Hank was by no means small, but some of the items on the shelves here were simply beyond human size limitations.

RK900 seemed to hold him open for a long moment, his hands spreading Connor's ass while his thumbs held him wide for inspection.

Connor looked forward, his head between Hank's thighs. Hank was touching himself, and Connor's head has right at the base of his penis. As such, he was distracted  - so it was quite a shock when RK900 spat into his open hole.

" _Oh_!" He cried, totally involuntarily - and then RK900 was leaning over him, pressing the end of the toy against his rim... He could feel the first set of hands had flattened themselves against the shaft, making themselves small enough to fit inside of him.

A glance over his shoulder had him realising that Gavin was behind RK900, thrusting into him from behind, towel discarded.

Connor managed to wedge one of his own hands under himself, wrapping it around his completely vanilla, Cyberlife-standard penis, biting the bean bag chair as RK900 pressed deeper still.

Hank groaned, and apparently the Viagra Connor had brought was totally unnecessary, given how hard he was.

RK900 finally pushed the last set of arms past his rim, those also pressed against the shaft as they slipped inside, and then he stopped pressing. Connor was sure that there were a few more inches that remained outside of him, but he wasn't certain that he would be capable of taking them.

For a few moments, there was silence, only broken by the wet slide of Gavin in and out of RK900, and Hank's hand moving over his own length.

Then RK900 let the hands _move_.

" _OH!_ " Connor arched on the bean bag, suddenly filled, the hands massaging him gently from the inside, the little fingers working him in ways he'd never experienced before. "Oh, _oh_!"

"He's noisy," Gavin laughed breathily. "Can you make sure he doesn't upset the neighbours, RK?"

RK900 obediently grasped Connor's head, leading his lips to the end of Hank's dripping cock.

Hank took the hint, letting his hands fall away as RK directed Connor to take Hank's length down his throat.

 ** _Oh_**.

Gavin and RK900 were right. Penetration from both ends was _incredible_. Why hadn't he and Hank been doing this the _whole time?_

RK900 held Connor's head in place by anchoring one arm on the back of Connor's head, pressing him against Hank's groin.

... Then he started thrusting.

Just a little, more a slow circling of his hips against Connor's, but it was the most intense thing he'd ever felt, the sheer size of the cock inside of him, the  hands gently kneading at his walls, Hank's cock hitting the back of his throat, right where all of his most delicate sensory equipment lay...

He was practically screaming around Hank's cock, fisting himself roughly against the bean bag while RK900 ruined him for all time.

It was when the first set of hands found the sensory net where his sensor modules clusters, right at the end of his channel, that he couldn't hold back anymore.

He came messily, feeling his release soak into the bean bag beneath him, lubricant spurting out around RK900's cock as his ass fucking squirted. Hank came down his throat at the same moment, flooding his throat sensors with additional sensation that kept his high going...

Then the hands all pushed outward, little palms opening him up from the inside, pressed against his walls and stretching him in a way he'd never even imagined...

It was the precursor to RK900 coming, shooting a ridiculous amount of cum inside of Connor, a great deal of it bursting past his stretched rim, past the base of RK900's cock, and dripping down his thighs.

Finally, Gavin moaned and rocked against RK900, hips juddering as he spent himself inside.

" _Phew_!" Gavin said, letting himself drape over RK900's back, who in turn was draped over Connor.

Connor turned his head to the side, letting Hank's member slip out of his mouth.

"So," He croaked, his vocal synthesiser apparently having blown at the charge that had run through him as he'd orgasmed. Or maybe it had something to do with Hank's semen seeping into it. Who knew? "Where did you say you got that toy from?"

Gavin only groaned, but RK900, ever helpful, cheerfully informed them, "Gavin's cousin, Elijah Kamski, designs them in his spare time."

... And _that_ was a bombshell that they could deal with at a later date. Preferably when Connor's higher faculties hadn't been thoroughly fucked out of him.

Over the next few visits to Reed's apartments, they became acquainted with Kamski's other designs.


	2. Cursed: Snuff Simon [Mission Accomplished]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major character death!
> 
> Connor discovered something about his programming at the Eden Club; now, in the evidence locker, he can finally put it to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death!
> 
> Rape/ Non-Con!
> 
> Snuff!
> 
> Extremely dark.

Connor hadn't thought that he was built for pleasure.

Traci models were equipped with genitalia, and had protocols that allowed them to simulate human arousal. They had programs dedicated to ensuring that their thirium pump rate, pupil dilation, and breathing, all appeared to function the same way that a human's might during intercourse. Their skin even flushed in the appropriate places, at the appropriate moments.

Connor knew that he was not a Traci model.

But none of those things - the purely aesthetic things that were a product of simulation - were what he was experiencing.

Interfacing with all of those Traci models at the Eden club had revealed something that no programmer could understand; the experience of pleasure was commonplace in the Traci models.

He might not have believed it, if not for the fact that he had experienced it through their memories.

He had tried to understand it, and thought that he had a reasonable working theory. The coding that they possessed to please their clients provided positive feedback upon completion of a task. Each task could include little things - arouse the client, unbuckle the belt, bring them to orgasm, or even something as simple as stroking their hair. Each time one of these goals was met, the program offered a positive sensation. Individually, these little sensations were minimal. But layered one over the other in quick succession, they were... Well, for lack of a better word, _satisfying_.

It was not dissimilar to the sensation that he recieved when he saw the " _M i s s i o n   S u c c e s s f u l_ " notification appear in his vision. However, due to the nature of his missions, he had never been able to... Work himself to completion, the way that the Tracis had.

It wasn't interfering with his work.

He was able to stay focused during the investigation, though he did find himself lamenting the long stretches of time between each step in the mission. It was always enough time that his brief high had faded, leaving him longing for more.

No, during time spent investigating deviant activity alongside the Lieutenant, he was unaffected.

It was the time _in-between_ investigating scenes that he was having trouble with.

It was what had him staring at the evidence locker one night, at one AM, having easily guessed Hank's password to view every scrap of information that they had managed to find on deviancy.

There was Rupert's notebook, though the deviant himself had escaped when he'd chosen to save Hank, rather than continue his pursuit.

There was the statue that Carlos Ortiz' android had carved, but that was useless.

The only _real_ lead that he had was the PL600, hanging on the wall, eyes closed, and still coated in the thirium that he'd bled when he'd shot himself through the head.

He'd managed to shut himself down. If Connor could repair him, perhaps he could speed up the investigation...

And if he made every step of that process a task in his mission, then he was sure that he would finally be able to relive that experience he'd so _briefly_ tasted at the Eden club.

The first item on the task list was to repair the deviant enough that he could speak and hear. Therefore, he had to be conscious.

Connor carefully constructed a mission tree, assigning tasks that were short and simple.

M i s s i o n:   F i n d    J e r i c h o

\- Find spare parts for PL600

    - Call an android officer into the DPD evidence room

        - Find compatible parts on the DPD android officer

             - Remove compatible parts from a DPD android officer

\- Repair PL600

   - Gain Information about Jericho

\- Discover the cause of deviancy

He set about the tasks immediately, wirelessly calling an android officer that was not currently in use.

He felt the subtle warmth of a successful task as he made the call, directing the android to meet him ASAP.

It took less than a minute for the android to walk from its charging station to the underground evidence room. 00:42s, to be more precise. Connor knew, because he'd been counting the seconds until he could complete the next task.

The officer entered the room, standing before him obediently. It didn't seem to process that he had used Hank's credentials to access the evidence locker when, technically, he had not been granted access.

A quick scan revealed that he had the parts needed, and Connor broke the tasks down even further, to ensure that he didn't lost his high again.

\- Incapacitate DPD android

   - Remove compatible biocomponents

     - Remove PL600 broken components

        - Replace PL600 broken components

He stood for a moment, letting the new tasks settle in his code.

Then, without warning, he _struck_.

The android, not having deviated from its programming, went down easily. A simple twist of its pump regulator through it's shirt, and blue blossomed across its chest as it fell to its knees.

The surge of satisfaction continued as he grasped at it's neck, squeezing until the skin disappeared, exposing the grooves where plastic plates attached to one another.

He stuck a fingernail in the groove, wedging the plates apart, cracking the plastic casing in the process. Within milliseconds, he had the biocomponent in hand.

It felt _good_. Better than he'd ever managed on a mission.

He turned on his heel and rushed the PL600, lunging at it with his hand outstretched, his fingers latching around its throat.

He was quick to rip apart the panels hiding the access to the vital component that had been shot clean through, replacing it with the fresh one, still dripping with thirium.

He repeated this process three times, with three separate biocomponents, in quick succession.

By the time he'd managed to install the final component, he was shaking.

His memories, it seemed, had faded - he was _sure_ that none of the Traci models had felt like _this_... This intense, all-consuming _rush_ that drove him half _mad_. He was stumbling, his legs suddenly refusing to take his weight, hands shaking, a feeling thrumming through his whole being that he couldn't describe.

 _Pleasure_ , he thought.

He knew, if he continued, there would be a climax.

He _wanted_ it.

The last biocomponent was in place, and he feared that he might plateau here. How was he supposed to garner information about Jericho? Would it take long enough that he would lose all of the momentum that he'd gained so far?

_I don't want to lose this feeling._

The PL600 restarted, and the successful task left him reeling, his body becoming dangerously warm.

"... Markus?"

The PL600's voice was plaintive. _Pitiful_. Full of sorrow and longing.

And it was blind.

He scrabbled to form new mission tasks based on this information, feeling excitement well inside of him, anticipation of what was to come somehow adding, exponentially, to the experience.

\- Gain information about Jericho

    - Imitate Markus' voice based on public broadcast

       - Convince PL600 that Markus is here

           - Gain information about Jericho

These tasks were automatically assigned   H I G H   I M P O R T A N C E,   due to them being central to his investigation.

Therefore, they would provide a particularly _powerful_ hit.

He scanned the recording of the message from the broadcast tower, his voice synthesiser receiving the necessary instructions to imitate the deviant leader.

... _Oh_.

That felt good.

"It's me," He said, in Markus' voice. Another task completed, another box checked. Another burst of pleasure, causing him to lean his weight against the PL600, as his legs seemed ready to collapse. He held onto the android for support, breathing heavily as his temperature regulator expelled hot air from his internals out through his mouth. "I'm here."

The android took the bait, causing another wave of pleasure to coarse through him, and he bit his lip as he tried to suppress a glitch in his vocaliser that might give him away.

He couldn't let it all fall apart now, now when he was so _close_...

"Markus!" The PL600 cried, hugging its arms around him, although it had very little power with which to do so. In fact, the action might have decreased its lifespan by minutes, which was a significant proportion in its current state. "Don't leave me again!" It begged, blank eyes tearing up.

"I won't," Connor said in Markus' voice, hoping that the PL600 wouldn't notice the slight waver. Or perhaps it would mistake it for a strong emotion, which might play into the narrative he was leading it to believe.

He added a new task, given that the PL600's untimely death would most certainly interfere with his mission... Both his mission as assigned by Cyberlife, and hispersonal mission to come hard enough to short out his processor.

\- Extend PL600's lifespan

    - Minimise power expenditure of PL600

       - Remove extraneous biocomponents from PL600

The PL600 was too caught up it begging Markus not to abandon it again, and was too damaged, to notice Connor's hands undoing its belt.

He slid its pants down enough that he could slide his hands around the top of its left thigh, disconnecting the component.

" _Unh_..." He couldn't stop the noise from escaping him as the reduced thirium requirement from the removal of its leg increased its expected functioning time by two entire minutes.

"... Markus?" The PL600 said quietly, no longer sounding sorrowful.

Now it just sounded _afraid_.

"... What are you doing?" It whispered, fingers gripping the back of Connor's jacket. If it hadn't been hugging him this entire time, he might have lost his balance already.

There was no real reason to lie about this part, but he did add another task, just to keep his streak going.

\- Continue to convince PL600 that I am Markus

"I'm trying to keep you alive while we get you help," He explained, trying to make Markus' voice sound concerned.

"We need to remove some of your components... They're just eating up thirium, and we need to buy you more time." He couldn't let the charade go on too long. It was only a matter of time before he let something slip, or the PL600 asked him something that he couldn't answer, and the ruse would fall apart.

"... Oh," The PL600 replied, relaxing a little in Connor's embrace. "I... Thank you."

"Don't mention it," He said, disconnecting the other leg.

Oh, _God_... It was so, so _good_ , he didn't want it to stop...

"We're still trying to get you help," He breathed in the PL600's ear, unable to stop himself from rubbing his body along its torso, the contact and friction doing something to him in this state that was so wonderful, and he needed _more_...

"I'll need to take off your arms, too... Don't be alarmed," He was imitating Markus' voice, but he couldn't help but sound breathy, temperature regulator working overtime.

"Of course not, Markus," the PL600 even smiled a little as it said that. "Thank you, _thank_ you for doing this for me, I don't.. It was so _awful_ , being alone... I'm so glad that you're _here_!"

It had tears running down its cheeks, but Connor wasn't paying attention to those... He was removing it's shirt, the uniform of the cleaning androids of the broadcast tower, so that he could remove its arms.

He had the most bizarre urge to kiss the PL600. He suspected that it might enhance the experience, as tactile pressure at his level of arousal seemed to increase the pleasure feedback, and his mouth was the most advanced and sensitive part of his body.

"You're doing so well," Connor said, and the PL600 practically swooned in his arms... As much as it was capable of such a thing, having only one arm left.

The other arm came off just as easily, and the nude torso and head has all that was left.

At this rate, the PL600 would last another ten whole minutes before shutting down.

"I didn't think that I would ever see you again. I thought that I was going to die, there, Markus," Simon whimpered, leaning forward against Connor as though still trying to hug him, even without arms. "I-"

Connor silenced him with a kiss.

The PL600 jolted in his arms, before moaning into it, enthusiastically returning the kiss. The tongue running over Connor's specialist forensics equipment was... _Indescribable_ , it was euphoric, and he almost moaned in his own voice, before catching himself at the last second.

"... .Oh," the PL600 said as Connor pulled back to regain his bearings. "I... _Oh_."

Connor wasn't sure if he'd fucked this entire operation up, or if it still believed that he was Markus.

"Markus, I..."

_He's still referring to me as Markus, that's a good sign._

"... I'm so _happy_."

Connor was so wound up, he didn't even feel relieved.

He needed to have another hit, now, so he pried open Simon's chest cavity, pulling up specs for the PL600 model as he did so.

He would find _every_ non-essential component and remove them, one by one, until he fucking _finally_ came - not through someone else's memory, but in his own body, his own mind.

"... Markus?" The PL600 sounded unsure again.

"I'm going to extend your life as long as I can," Connor vowed as Markus, pulling out component after component from his exposed chest cavity. "I won't leave you behind again, ever. I promise."

The PL600 seemed to take those words to heart, smiling with naked joy and sincerity, utterly besotted this fictional deviant.

"I want you to know, Markus," He said, another tear making its way down his cheek. "If I die now, I'll die happy, having  known what your lips taste like."

With each biocomponent that he removed, he felt another surge of it, the high he was chasing getting closer, and yet still out of reach...

"You're not going to die on my watch." _If only you knew._

By the time every non-essential biocomponent was removed, there wasn't much left of the PL600.

Connor was shaking again, looking over his handiwork, the PL600 reduced to little more than a head on a spinal cord, it's thirium pump and regulator the only remaining visible biocomponents. It was a work of art, to bring a being so close to death, and leave it hovering there... To peel away all the extraneous layers, and expose the most vital elements.

"You're so beautiful," He said in earnest, tracing a finger around the wet thirium pump regulator.

the PL600's breath hitched as Connor's finger traced the edges of it, and he paused in his movements.

"... Do that again," The PL600 whispered. "It... It felt good."

Connor smiled. " _This_?" He said playfully, running his finger around the rim again, a feather-light touch to the sensitive component.

"... _Yes_ ," The PL600 breathed, lip quivering. "Oh, _please_ , Markus..."

"Of course," Connor said, an idea forming in his mind. His mouth was once again itching to be stimulated, the sensors in his mouth singing with tension.

He bent down, extending his tongue to run it around the edge of the PL600's thirium pump regulator.

" _Uhh_!" The PL600 cried, mouth falling open. "Oh, _Markus_!"

The sensors in Connor's mouth lit up his entire sensor net as he explored Simon's regulator and pump with it, wrapping his lips around the regulator port, tonguing it and letting the charge in his circuits build to unsustainable levels. He was so, _so_ close.

... But it wasn't _quite_ enough.

"I need your help," He still had another task on his list. A task big enough that he was sure that it would push him well and truly over the edge. "My memory was damaged slightly... Don't worry, I'm fine! But I need you to send me the coordinates for Jericho."

The PL600 accepted that at face value, mind beyond the here and now, completely trusting in Connor.

"Of course... But... I don't have hands, Markus, how can I...?"

Connor chuckled, cupping Simon's face in his hands. "Why don't we interface with our tongues tonight?" He said, sultry.

the PL600 gasped, and Connor took the opportunity to stick his tongue down its throat.

... It worked.

And not only did the information provided by the PL600 (Simon, he learned through the interface) send him careening into orgasm, his whole body shaking as he writhed against Simon's husk, but the interface allowed Simon to feel the full force of it, leaving him wailing against Connor's  mouth.

Simon was so lost, reeling from the sudden, jarring realisation that Connor was _not_ , in fact, Markus, at the same time as the pleasure burned its way through the few circuits that he had left.

Just as the high of coming started to fade, Connor yanked out Simon's pump, and he bled out in less than a single second.

He collapsed on the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees, not quite able to stand yet.

He was covered head to toe in thirium, basking in the afterglow of his first official orgasm.

He wasn't sure how he was going to explain the deceased DPD android by the terminal, or the pieces of Simon strewn throughout the room... But he was confident that the information that he had gathered would more than make up for those minor transgressions.

After all, he had found Jericho.

Once he gathered his bearings, he stood tall, straightened his tie, and left the evidence room.

It was time to complete another Mission. And after that experience, he was keen to finish another.


	3. Cursed: Cucumber Knut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor realises something new about his body.
> 
> ... It results in him wanting Hank's fat knot down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/B/O dynamics, Alpha!Hank, knotting, deepthroating.

Connor already knew his throat was sensitive.

Even the feather-light press of his fingers to his analytical tongue felt disproportionately strong, the briefest touch of his fingers to his lips leaving him with the strangest tingling sensation.

He'd explored this is more detail one evening, waiting until Hank was asleep before quietly padding into the kitchen.

Sumo looked up from his bed, tail thumping in excitement as someone ended the _food room_ , but there were no midnight snacks on the agenda. Not _tonight_.

Hank had been shopping earlier, and to appease Connor's concerns regarding human mortality, he had bought fresh fruit and vegetables.

It was in the fridge that Connor found the cucumber he'd spotted amongst the groceries earlier, still wrapped in a thin layer of plastic.

Perfect.

As much as he'd enjoyed reaching his fingers intuitive his throat over the past several nights, he could never seem to get them far enough to chase whatever the feeling was that came with stimulating the sensors lining his oesophagus. It was but a playful, teasing hint of something that he was sure went much... _Deeper_.

He pulled out the wrapped fruit, deciding it was the perfect length, width, and hardness for what he wanted to simulate.

At first, he just brushed the end of it over his lips, drinking in the anticipation and tension thrumming in his lines. The slight press of it against his lips had the strange jittery feeling running up his spinal strut, and his throat tickled even without any direct stimuli.

Next, he gave a tentative lick to the end of the wrapped fruit.

His sensor-laden tongue gave him a wealth of feedback, and he was quick to move from tiny kitten-licks to long, broad strokes of his tongue up and down the length of the cucumber.

"Mmm _Hmm_..." His vocaliser seemed to glitch, an involuntary sound. It felt nice, though... A minute vibration that in normal circumstances was inconsequential, but right _now_ was adding to the symphony of new sensations that he wanted to experience so badly.

He let himself keep moaning as he finally pressed one end of the cucumber into his mouth.

It was light, resting against his tongue easily, and narrow enough that it was an easy fit.

The pressure of it on his tongue was pleasant, but he felt it could be _more_.

Closing his lips around the protrusion, he hollowed out his cheeks and _sucked_ a little.

Oh.

... That was _nice_.

He pressed a little more of it into his mouth, lips forming a tight seal around the circumference. The pressure against his lips, his tongue...

He changed the angle at which he pushed it in, and moaned helplessly at the resulting feedback.

A few minutes of such stimulation left him feeling overheated, the tingling sensation in him reaching a fever pitch, and yet simultaneously leaving him desperate for more.

His most sensitive components, he knew, lay deeper in his throat.

His schematics didn't warn him of this. In fact, he had discovered it quite by accident; the first time he'd ever had to ingest thirium orally. The liquid sloshing down his throat had left him reeling, and the sudden spike in his temperature gauge had left the technician who'd been seeing to him at the time scrambling to fix the "problem".

... But Connor hadn't thought it was a problem at all. As a matter of fact, he'd quite thoroughly _enjoyed_ the experience… Just as he was now enjoying he press of the cucumber against the inner lining of his throat, his analytical biocomponents working overtime to keep up with the flood of sensory information.

He didn't even bother to register the readouts on the contaminants on the plastic casing of the cucumber as they appeared in his vision, dutifully recorded by his forensic software. Much more gratifying was the way that his vocaliser and Cyberlife-brand forensic analysis biocomponent were gently compressed by the intrusion in his oesophagus.

Unable to help himself, shifting from foot to foot, he pushed it ever deeper.

"Mmm..."

He kept experimenting with changing the angle of penetration, and found a few delightfully sensitive spots in his throat to press against. He found the most gratification came from rubbing the end of the cucumber against the spot in a rhythmic motion.

He almost feel to his knees when he began pressing the cucumber into one particular spot in a circular motion.

" _Mmmhm_!"

Everything was coalescing together, the press of his lips around its width, the way it pressed against his tongue, the pressure against the sensitive lining of his throat, that one spot as he pressed the cucumber hard against it, rubbing little circles into-

Suddenly his entire sensor net lit up, a charge running through him that did have him buckling at the knees, though he still managed to keep pressing the cucumber against the back of his throat. It was overwhelming, it was incredible, it was everything... His moaning around the cucumber only caused vibrations in his throat that drew out what was proving to be the most wonderful experience of Connor's short life.

When it finally began go recede, he became aware of two things; one, the cold press of the linoleum against his knees.

Two, the sound of Hank's bedroom door opening.

He was quick to yank the cucumber from his throat, unwilling yet to explain what he'd been doing to Hank. He didn't fully understand it himself.

He could hear Hank shuffling in the pitch black, fumbling for the bathroom door.

While Hank relieved himself, Connor snuck back into the bedroom. He could hear the tinkling as Hank emptied his bladder, then the soft sound of the tap running as Hank splashed some water on his hands.

When Hank blearily made his way back to bed to see Connor once again on the other side, he made a huffing sound that might have been a laugh.

"... You up giving my fat dog treats in the middle of the night again?" He asked in the low, gravelly voice of sleep.

"... No," Connor answered truthfully.

Hank huffed again, crawling back under the blankets and falling asleep almost instantly.

Connor watched his silhouette in the dark, mind wandering to what else he might stick in his throat to chase that wonderful feeling again.

... And that's when he had a marvellous idea.

 

* * *

 

 

It's the first thing they teach in sex ed.

... Well, it's the _second_ thing they teach, after "If you have unprotected sex, you _die_."

That one was more to scare the children into abstinence, but the second lesson was the most important; "Never, _ever_ let an alpha come in your throat."

It was always a scandal worthy of the front page when some hapless couple "tied the knot" in all the wrong ways. He still remembered the headline when a senator had choked to death on a mistress' knot in the back of a car, " _Autoerotic Asphyxiation_ ". Hank felt a little bad for chuckling at that one, given that he himself had investigated several "accidental deaths by knot" which had later proven to be murder. Working in homicide really _sucked_ , sometimes.

... But just because it was common knowledge that knotting in a throat was bad, that didn't mean it wasn't a common trope in porn.

" _Knutting_ ", they called it. It was androids they used to film it - a human couldn't survive the several minutes without oxygen. It was an entire sub-genre by itself.

And it had always been a personal, extremely _private_ fantasy of Hank's.

... So he wanted to come down someone's throat. Was it _his_ fault his endotype ended up being an Alpha? He'd made his peace with it; accepted that it simply wasn't meant to be.

But it turned out that hiding your freaky kinks from an android who lived with you was impossible. And Connor, being the naturally curious Detective that he was, came to find out an awful lot about Hank's spank bank.

"Hank," Connor had said one evening, after they'd both spent a relaxing day together, taking up some long-neglected leave that Hank had stored up.

Connor had been spoiling him the entire two days - getting him to a massage parlour (going on and on about the benefits of touch to humans), taking him to a spa, taking him out to a nice Thai restaurant and creepily watching him eat.

Hank didn't know what the hell it was all about, but he did know that the ever-present sexual tension between them has jumped all the way up to eleven.

"What is it, Connor?" Hank said warily, all too aware of the mischievous glint in the androids faux-innocent eyes.

"I think you're extremely attractive," Connor said bluntly. "And I enjoy our time together. I would like, very much, to have sex with you."

Hank states at him for a few moments. Long enough for Connor to continue.

"Do you find me attractive, Hank?" And goddammit, he asked it so innocently and earnestly.

"... Yeah," Hank said slowly, because what was the point in lying?

"I'd like to be honest and upfront with you, if you're amenable to my proposal to take our relationship to an explicitly sexual place," Connor went on. "Would you like to explore that?"

Hank considered it, really he did, but a part of him was already on board the go-down-on-Connor train two months into them living together.

"... Yeah," He said, unable to keep his voice from lowering into gravelly territory as his eyes roved over Connor.

 The kid was _posing_ , goddammit, cause he usually  sat on Hank's couch like his arms and legs would _fall off_ if he didn't hold all his joints at perfect ninety-degree angles.

Connor gave him a lop-sided smile, blinking in a way that accentuated his dark lashes. "I'm glad," he said, sensually running his palms down his thighs. "But if we're going forward with this, I think you should know that I'm not equipped with genitalia."

... Okay. _That_ one threw Hank through a loop.

"So... How do you want to... Get _explicitly sexual_?" He asked. He hoped Connor wasn’t just doing this because he could detect Hank's attraction to him...

"My throat is _extremely_ sensitive," Connor responded easily.

... And thanks to a lifetime of conditioning, it took Hank a few moments to parse that sentence out.

Then his jaw dropped.

Connor voiced it before Hank had a chance to respond. "I want you to fuck my throat, Hank."

"Oh my god," Hank breathed, dick filling out already.

"I want to feel your knot against my most sensitive components."

**_Fuck._ **


	4. Fluff, in the Most Literal Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor cleans up Sumo's shed fur constantly - that dog always leaves fur on the carpet, couches, clothes; even Connor's Cyberlife jacket isn't immune (though Connor quite enjoys knowing there's always a little sumo with him wherever he goes).
> 
> He's been opening himself up to being more creative as his deviant progresses, so the next time he cleans the house, he gathers up Sumo's shed fur, separates the colors (white, brown, black) and constructs a miniature Sumo out of it.
> 
> He gives it to Hank (since Hank is really the reason that he was able to deviate, it seems fitting that he should receive Connor's first attempt at "art) and Hank proudly displays it on his desk at work.
> 
> After seeing this, Nines makes one for Gavin, because one of his older cats is dying of kidney failure, and he's been really _down_ (he's snippier, _meaner_ than usual).
> 
> And when he gives it to Gavin, Gav just bursts into tears.
> 
>  
> 
> That's it, that's the fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sweet enough to rot your teeth ;) _(also, implied cat death)_
> 
>  
> 
> Shout out to everyone who has named Gavin's cat Lucy, cause it has stuck in my brain - the author I can think of off the top of my head is a_calipygian here on Ao3, so thanks! That's my headcanon now, too :)
> 
> Check out this rad video of someone making a felted cat bust [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YmyaudGCyHA)

"Detective Reed."

Gavin doesn't look up from his terminal, but RK900 expected as much.

"Are you busy, Detective?"

Gavin grunts, and in the reflection of his screen, RK900 sees his mouth twitch into a sneer.

Gavin has been acting out in the wake of a recent change in his life. RK900 knew that this was the case before he even knew what the catalyst event _was_. Gavin Reed was as easy to read as a book. His insufferable bravado was no defence against RK900's advanced social programming and protocols for cataloguing and deciphering human social cues. Every human emoted slightly differently, but with enough time around someone, their personal tics became RK900's playground. Their mannerisms and habits became as readable as a .docx file to Microsoft Word. Their secrets and personal lives opened themselves to RK900's inspection.

So when, two weeks ago, Gavin had burst into the precinct with a more pronounced scowl than usual and strictly refused to speak to anyone outside of things that directly related to his work, RK900 knew that something drastic had happened.

It had taken some needling and investigating to get to the root of the issue. Gavin was not one for sharing his personal feelings, having been indoctrinated into the hyper-masculine "feelings are for pussies" identity in his formative years, and never having sufficiently committed to any corrective measures to alleviate it's impact on his identity. RK900 had suggested therapy once, and Gavin had punched him in the jaw. He'd fractured his wrist in the attempt, which RK900 had profusely apologised for, but their relationship remained on rocky ground.

He'd always been a mercurial man, as far as RK900 was aware. Bitter and cruel in one moment, then laughing and demonstrating a biting wit and acerbic sense of humour that RK900 had grown to enjoy, and then back around to square one.

For the past fourteen days, however, they'd been stuck on "bitter and cruel", and...

And RK900 missed the camaraderie that they had developed over their partnership.

So he'd searched for whatever it was in Gavin's life that had resulted in his regression into the defensive, vicious persona that manifested whenever he was faced with something that overwhelmed him.

And he'd found it.

Her name was Lucy, a Norwegian Forest Cat, twenty-one years old (her twenty-second birthday was listed in Gavin's phone as being the second of July, another week from now) whose most recent veterinary check-up had left Gavin with some sad news as to her fate.

RK900 had seen the vet appointment in Gavin's phone when he'd interfaced with it once while handing it to the detective, and the date lined up with Gavin's shift in demeanour. Further, his calendar notes regarding "buy Lucy's meds" and alarms with titles like "kitty med time" indicated that Gavin was stressed about Lucy's prospects.

Gavin hated showing weakness, so it was no surprise that he bottled up his grief and instead chose to lash out.

RK900 knew that there was little point in trying to suggest anything to try and make the situation better. Recommending therapy had got him clocked in the jaw. Offering to teach him yoga in relation to back pain from a work-related injury had seen him mocked and ignored. Proposing e-cigarettes had earned him the temporary nickname "Vape900", for reasons beyond his understanding, but had done nothing to curb Gavin's relentless destruction of his lungs.

... So when faced with this problem, rather than make some fruitless suggestion that would be ignored, he opted to try a different approach.

He often let himself into Gavin's apartment. Gavin had even given him a key, when he'd tired to RK900 breaking his lock.

He'd collected the excess fur that had gathered in the couches, rugs, clothing, and floors, and taken it home. He might also have thrown out old take-out containers, done two loads of laundry, scrubbed the toilet, prepared a week's worth of lunches that he'd packed and left in the fridge, and put all of the dishes around the house in the dishwasher. Contrary to his daily appearance, Gavin was a fastidiously clean man, and his lapse in home maintenance was no doubt in part due to the stressor that was Lucy's declining health.

He'd then followed the example set by his predecessor and learned the art of making miniature animals from felted fur.

And now, he was presenting the final result to Gavin. Or at least, he was trying to.

"Please, Detective Reed. I have something for you," He held out the small bow, immaculately wrapped, which held the small gift. There was a small card that he'd written a message on, so that Gavin would know what it was.

Gavin let out a long breath, rolled his eyes, and spun his seat around to pin RK900 with a withering glare. "Is it smokes? Cause that's the only thing that you could give me that I would give a shit about right now."

"It is not," RK900 responded, still holding out the gift.

"Then I don't care," Gavin said flatly, before spinning around to face his terminal.

"I will leave it here, then," RK900 said, placing the package on the desk next to him.

Gavin ignored him completely, and RK900 went back to his desk, feeling disappointed. This wasn't how it had gone for Connor.

Connor had presented his gift to the Lieutenant in much the same way, with a lesser-quality wrapping paper and less exorbitant ribbon, and Lieutenant Anderson had been delighted. He'd opened it then and there, and gushed over the details, the sweetness of the gesture, and had immediately had it sit atop his terminal screen, where it was still on display.

He knew that the Lieutenant and his Detective were worlds apart personality-wise, but the fundamental "gruff exterior with a more palatable filling" aspects were identical. He'd really thought -

Well, maybe this was a lesson; rely more on his preconstruction software and social analysis programming, rather than emotional instinct and things he simply desired to happen. The latter led only to disappointment.

 

 

They worked in silence for the rest of the day, Gavin occasionally casting suspicious glances at RK900, and his eyes kept darting towards the box at his side.

They had to leave the precinct for several hours, and by the time they got back, it was almost time to clock-off.

"I've got so much fucking paperwork," Gavin groaned as they collapsed back in their desks. "I've gotta get home, before-"

Gavin abruptly cut himself off, and RK900 knew that it was because he didn't want to say that he needed to rush home to give Lucy her medication.

"I can do it," RK900 said, holding out a hand and beginning an interface with Gavin's terminal before he could stop him. It took no time at all for RK900 to compile a report from Gavin Reed's computer and have it sent to Fowler. "Done," he announced.

When he looked at Gavin, he realised that Gavin wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the little box.

"Alright, I'll bite," Gavin said, crossing his arms. "What's in it?"

"The point of wrapping it was so that you could unwrap it and find out," RK900 replied, having researched the question of gift-giving thoroughly. He didn't want to ruin the surprise.

“Spider? Scorpion? Snake?" Gavin asked with an eyebrow raised. "Lump of coal? Dog shit?"

"No," RK900 said, perturbed. "Why would I give you any of those?"

Gavin glared at him. "'Cause I know that this isn't a fuckin' Christmas in July gift, and I've been-" Gavin paused, flushed, and then tried again. "I've been treating you... I've been fuckin' shitty, and people don't give people gifts when they've been fucking shitty. So what the fuck is it?"

RK900 pushed the little box across the surface of the desk towards Gavin. "Open it," He said. "See for yourself."

Gavin gave him one last scrutineering look, before slowly reaching for the present. He carelessly tore off the ribbon and wrapping paper, letting them fall onto his desk without a care. He opened the lid, and plucked out the ball of fluff.

"What the fuck is-"

He stopped, as though frozen. RK900 blinked, in case he had experienced a minor lag in his optical processing unit, but there was no error; Gavin had simply stopped moving.

Then he abruptly grabbed the card that he'd let fall on the desk alongside the wrapping paper, opening it with a frenzied fervor.

 

_Dear Detective Reed,_

_I know that you have been struggling with your cat, Lucy's, health. I hope for the best for you during this trying time. I have constructed this facsimile of her out of her own fur, so that you can have a memento of your beloved companion animal._

_All the best,_

_RK900_

 

Gavin spent a few moments alternating between staring at the perfect Cyberlife Sans on the card, and the miniature Lucy in his other hand.

RK900 shifted on his feet. "I hope that I am not overstepping," He said, unsure of how else to fill the silence.

His words drew Gavin's gaze back to him, allowing RK900 to see that his eyes were filled with tears.

"How-" He choked, before dropping his head to hide his face as he whimpered. RK900 could see a tear run down his cheek.

RK900 patted his shoulder. "There, there," He said.

Gavin, heedless of the other officers milling about, turned into RK900's chest and sobbed. He obliged by wrapping his arms around Reed and holding him.

RK900 hoped that meant he liked it.


End file.
